


Brief Return

by kereia



Category: Carol Berg - The Lighthouse Duet
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 21:12:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kereia/pseuds/kereia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spring approaches, and before his uncle continues teaching Valen the ways of the Danè  he pays a brief visit to Osriel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brief Return

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Blue Escapist (theblueescapist)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theblueescapist/gifts).



Waking up presented Valen with unexpected difficulties. Over the passage of the winter months, he had grown accustomed to the constant ebb and flow of his consciousness as it wove itself through rock and water, earth and ice.

Despite the snow and the bitter cold, there was life all around him–animals hibernating in their dens, slow heartbeats, slower breaths–and throughout it all the waning magic of the winter canon.

He felt comfortable here, safe and languid as he floated upon the quiet calm of nature's somnolent life.

But the voice called him back.

It had started as a gentle whisper in his mind, coaxing, tugging, speaking softly so as not to scare him. He trusted that voice, even though he felt a slight pang of irritation when it's cadence disturbed the monotone rush of water that flowed through his resting place.

Reluctant as he was to leave his sanguine state, Valen followed that voice. Slowly. Labouriously. For months his mind had been part of the vastness of nature. To force it back into a mortal body felt akin to amputating one of his limbs. His awareness of the life around him diminished–he could no longer hear the heartbeats of mice, rabbits, and badgers, nor the scurrying paws of squirrels looking for the last morsels of their winter caches.

He wished to linger, to return to that slumberous state of in-between where neither life nor death had any meaning. Yet, the voice called him on, insistant and with a sharp edge of annoyance lacing it's tone.

It was that edge that brought back memories of blue skin and dancing feet. Of fish thrown on the ground in front of him, of a crouched figure in the rain, Danè guards blazing in the darkness; his uncle restoring life and health to the earth beneath his feet–teaching him, Valen, how to dance in the canon.

His uncle.

Recalling the memory of the man acted like a catalyst. With a sudden snap, Valen lost his hold on the tenuous strands that bound his consciousness to the Well. He gasped for breath and opened his eyes. For the first time since he had succumbed to the urge to sleep, he felt the cold of the stone beneath him. His breath fogged the air, and he shivered and drew his limbs close to his chest.

Above him stood the lithe, sinuous form of his uncle, Kol. He regarded Valen calmly. "You slept too long."

Nonplussed, Valen stared right back. "How was I to know when I should wake up?" He knew that his retort had sounded a touch too petulant, but he still felt shaken by his sudden return to wakefulness.

"I called you twice before, and you ignored me."

Valen slowly unfolded his legs and rose to his feet. He fully expected his joints and muscles to be stiff, but to his surprise his movements were fluid and graceful. "I did not hear you," he confessed.

Memories of the time he had spent resting were difficult to recall. They slipped from his grasp like wisps of fog. "I do remember a voice speaking to me. I'm not sure what it said, but it painted pictures of Osriel and Gillarine."

His uncle nodded. "The healer came to visit you many times during the winter."

He opened his hand to show him several small, dark lumps, which Valen only recognised as dried fruit once he leaned close to inspect them suspiciously. "Eat," Kol said.

Hesitantly, Valen picked up one of the shapeless lumps and bit it in half. Sweet and tart at once, it filled his mouth with unexpected warmth as he chewed thoughtfully. "Saverian was in Aeginea?"

"No, she visited the Well in the human world to bring you news of Navronne."

Valen stepped forward, eager to know more. He had left the world behind for nearly a quatre of a year to recuperate and adjust to his new found heritage and the gifts and trials that had come to him in its wake, but still he felt torn between the worlds of his dual ancestry. He wanted to explore Aeginea, learn more about what it meant to be Danè, to visit the Plain again, and see how it had changed since the Danè had reclaimed it.

But he also wanted to know what had happened in Navronne. He wanted to talk to Osriel, see how the reconstruction of Gillarine progressed, if the land was healing there are well as in Aeginea. "What news of Osriel, grandfather? Have you met him while I slept?"

Kol gave him a curt nod "He wants to see you. He is waiting at Gillarine."

Valen's curiosity overruled all other needs. "Then I must go."

With an insisting gesture, his uncle proffered the remaining fruit. "You will eat first."

* * * * *

The stone courtyard was deserted when he arrived at Gillarine. It was still dark outside. Looking around, Valen could see the first sings of spring on the snow-covered trees. A glimpse of early blossoms pushing through the frosty whiteness.

He hastily slipped into his clothes, not to protect himself from the cold, but for the sake of propriety. Travelling through the worlds was easier when his guards were exposed to air and weather, but the sight of his blue skin and the glowing images along his limbs and torso might still cause a ruckus in spite of the fact that Osriel was expecting him.

He slipped through halls and corridors until the ringing call for matins prayers explained the absence of the bustling life that inhabited the monastery–or should inhabit it once more, now that the destruction that Sila Diaglou had wrought was almost repaired.

Turning a corner he came upon two guards who were stationed near a set of doors. His step slowed, and he tensed when they saw him and reached for their swords. Their faces shone grim in the torchlight, and Valen could not recall seeing either one of them before.

"I am Magnus Valentia de Cartmandua-Celestine," he said as he raised his hands. Though the second part of his surname was inaccurate now that he knew the truth about his heritage, the name flowed easily off his tongue. For a moment Valen indulged the irony. How many years had he kept that name hidden from anyone who knew him? How long had he run away from it?

"So you are."

The voice came from behind him, and Valen half turned until his back was to one wall, and he could safely look along either side of the corridor.

It was Osriel himself who strode towards him, a wry expression on his face. "Have you finally decided to wake up?" he asked.

One corner of Valen's mouth lifted in acknowledgment. "My uncle would not let me sleep any longer."

Tall, thin, and gaunt, Osriel still looked healthier than Valen had ever seen him. It was in his eyes, he decided. They looked lighter now that they no longer held the weight of the world, and the knowledge of the torment that he had brought to the souls of the dead.

Osriel's firm grip on his shoulder brought Valen back to his senses.

With a small gesture Osriel bade the guards to stand down, and then led him into the room beyond. A fire was roaring below a stone mantlepiece. The stain glass windows allowed a glimpse towards the east, where the sun would rise in a few hours.

Three chairs were grouped around a chipped, wooden desk. Two small cabinets claimed the entire length of the rear wall, and a threadbare rug covered the floor of the small chambre from one side to the other.

"Sit down, Valen. Your uncle made it clear that you do not have much time." Osriel traversed the narrow open space to sit down behind the desk.

"I still have a lot to learn," Valen replied, a mixture of chagrin, resentment, and curiosity in his voice. He had never been good at following orders. His whole life had been devoted to escaping the rigid rules that others had striven to impose on him. Thus, even though he acknowledged the necessity to learn everything his uncle was willing to teach him, and was even eager to learn these lessons, it was a matter of habit to him to feel rankled about the manner by which he was to be taught. His uncle did not suffer fools lightly.

"Yes, you do." A note of amusement laced Osriel's voice, and there was a glimmer of laughter in his eyes that told Valen that Osriel knew all too well how he, Valen, felt about being ordered around. Then again, Osriel did have sufficient experience in dealing with the rebellious pure blood for whom he had bought a contract not half a year ago.

Had it only been half a year? Valen could hardly believe it.

"I will not keep you long," Osriel continued, "but remember that I retain your services for the years to come. I still have use for your talents, Valen. Now more than ever."

Valen nodded slowly. He had not forgotten.

A quiet sigh rose to his lips, but Valen suppressed it. He had know that his reprieve would come to an end sooner or later. And though he felt refreshed and whole again, the duties that lay before him were daunting... and restrictive. He did his best to hide his emotions, but as always in his dealings with Osriel, he was less than certain whether he succeeded.

Determined, he sat in one of the vacant chairs and braced his elbows on his knees while he regarded Osriel. There were many questions he longed to have answered before he returned to his grandfather and his teachings. "How goes the reconstruction?" he asked.

* * * * *

For hours they talked. A servant was sent for food and drink. Night gave way to daylight, and still they talked. About Julian and Brother Gildas, about the fields that needed to be sown, about Sila Diaglou's fate and parting souls that had finally found peace. About the challenges of bringing a similar piece to the living. About the child that Osriel would soon call his own, and the hand fasting ceremony that was to come before it. Plans about the future.

The sun had almost reached it zenith when Osriel rose to stretch stiff arms and shoulders. "So you see, Valen, there is much to do. For all of us. And we have little time to lose." He rounded the desk and bade Valen to stand. "Learn your lessons well, and see that you return before spring has passed. I will not spare you any longer than that." His tone was hard, but not unkind, and for the first time since Valen had entered the room, Osriel seemed more like his old friend Gram again.

Warm affection rose in Valen's heart. "I will return before summer. You have my word."

Osriel permitted a small smile to touch his face. To Valen's surprise he cupped Valen's face and leaned close to press a firm, yet gentle kiss to his lips. Caught off guard, Valen gave way beneath the pressure and opened his mouth to let his breath mingle with Osriel's. A light-headed feeling rose in his stomach, and Valen closed his eyes.

It lasted only a moment, and then Osriel pulled back. The crooked half smile had given way to a sombre expression. "Be safe, Valen."

Dazed, Valen nodded, and after a silent moment, during which he realized that he had been dismissed, he took his leave. Upon stepping back into the corridor, he was about to close the door behind him, when Osriel's voice drifted into the hall.

"And do not be late, Valen," came the stern reminder. Valen could not have said what exactly it was that made him smile, but he left Gillarine with a much lighter step then he when he'd arrived.

 

The End


End file.
